


CastleVania: Heir of Darkness

by ZpanSven



Category: Akumajou Dracula | Castlevania Series
Genre: Gen, Large Cast, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZpanSven/pseuds/ZpanSven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1856. Castlevania has been resurrected. It will take more than Henry, Reinhardt, and Carrie to stop Dracula this time. Rising from the darkness of the past, Alucard and Cornell rise to join forces with the younger generation of vampire killers – and a pair of new warriors out to aid in the destruction of Dracula. Will this unlikely team survive against the Lord of the Damned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Return of the Dark Lord

**Author's Note:**

> CASTLEVANIA:HEIR OF DARKNESS  
> AUTHOR: Zpan Sven  
> E-MAIL: Zpan(underscore)Sven(at)hotmail(dot)com  
> DISCLAIMER: I did not create Castlevania and its characters, the wonderful people of Konami did. All characters introduced that re unknown are of my creation. If you want to use them, e-mail me, ask, and give me my due credit. Or I’ll be forced to hunt you down and steal your soul. *evil cackle*  
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I did not become interested in Castlevania until I bought Castlevania 64 and Castlevania: Legacy of Darkness, so e-mail me and tell me if there are any inconsistencies in the story. Thanks, I really appreciate it.  
> “Speaking”  
> ‘Thinking’  
> .Telepathy..  
> SUMMARY: It’s 1856. Castlevania has been resurrected. It will take more than Henry, Reinhardt, and Carrie to stop Dracula this time. Rising from the darkness of the past, Alucard and Cornell rise to join forces with the younger generation of vampire killers – and a pair of new warriors out to aid in the destruction of Dracula. Will this unlikely team survive against the Lord of the Damned?  
> CHAPTER SUMMARY: Darkness is gathering and Castlevania and the Dark Lord have been resurrected. Reinhardt and Henry find their home of Veros is not safe when Rosa is struck down by Dracula’s curse. A new figure is added to the mix, mysterious and with unknown ties to Dracula.  
> GENRE: Supernatural/Action & Adventure  
> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, and Character Death  
> RATING:PG-13  
> ARCHIVE: Fanfiction.net, Mediaminer.org, other’s please ask  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

_100 miles north of Veros, Walachia Province, Transylvania_

_February 1856_

 

Sitting in the middle of a fog enshrouded lake was a small island covered in the ruins of what appeared to have been a magnificent castle left from the times of the infamous Vlad Dracul, when this now peaceful land was part of a much larger empire at war with the invading Turkish armies. Deep inside the rubble of the fallen tower, stone grated against metal and a skeletal arm burst free. All over the island, undead minions were clawing their way free, brought back to the land of the living from their restless slumber.

 

The eerie fog surrounding the island silenced the sound of the ruins moving and slowly rebuilding itself into the massive creation of Chaos that was called Castlevania…

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On the lake’s shore, in a site specifically laid out to form a massive pentagram when the points were joined, five individual beings smiled; they were not human nor were they benevolent – far from it, for these were the servants of darkness, seeking to resurrect their Lord and Master prematurely from his forced slumber. Behind each being was a sacrificial altar of obsidian marble, where a young virgin girl had been tortured and sacrificed in some of the most gruesome ways possible, their blood and suffering part of the dark rite that had just finished; now all that the five could do was wait.

 

And wait they did when their dark wishes were answered, a tall tower suddenly bursting up from the rebuilding ruins, dark malevolent laughter ringing with triumph echoing from the island over the water to them. The five, powerful creatures of Darkness in their own right, felt a thrill of terror tempered by dark joy go through them.

 

Dracula, Lord and Master of the Night and Undead, had returned…

 

 

 

* * *

 

_Veros, Walachia Province, Transylvania_

_March 1856_

 

Veros proper was a small but thriving town, where the farmers and woodsmen would bring their goods from the outskirts of town, supplying the townspeople with much needed food and firewood. In return, the hardworking men and women were provided fair discounts in the town’s shops and pubs.

 

Lately, however, relationships had been strained. An unexplained rash of ill fortune and brutal murders plagued those living in the outskirts of the town and there were rumors of monsters returning to roam in the forests. A few foolhardy lads, hoping to win the affections of the girl they were smitten with, decided to prove their bravery and ability to protect by entering the forests after the sun had set.

 

Their screams had gone unheard in the unnaturally silent forest and their brutally mauled corpses found by the morning Watchmen at the Front Gate when the massive doors were opened to greet the dawn.

 

Fearful for the welfare of their families, the heads of the households sent their loved ones into the town to stay with friends and family. Alone and afraid, the lone farmers and woodsmen found a new set of troubles awaited them. Crops mysteriously rotted while still green on the plant, while the trees would bleed a thick black blood substance and give off unearthly moans and wails when struck by an axe.

 

Even with these bizarre occurrences occurring just outside, those in the town felt _safe_ – no **harm** had come to _anyone_ with in the security of its massive mortar and timber walls. Within Veros, all was good.

 

They were _terribly_ wrong.

 

A townsman, often a loner and sometime prankster, went mad, killing the daughter of his neighbors, who had come over with a basket of food when she had heard he had been ill, in a brutal, savage manner. His entire form had changed to reflect his madness, making him appear the Devil incarnate. He was halted by the local priest and two men of Veros whom had just returned to find that their dreams of peace and a life free of the Dark Lord’s influence had just been shattered.

 

And for one of them, things were about to get **far** worse…

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Oh Merciful Heavens! _Herr_ Schneider, thank the Lord you’re home,” wailed the gentle voice of plump silver-haired widow that the children and adults alike all affectionately called ‘Nana’.

 

“Nana, how’s Rosa?” Reinhardt Schneider asked frantically, his sapphire blue eyes dark with worry, his clothing reflecting the hard traveling he and his comrade had undergone to return as swiftly as possible.

 

“She’s very weak – I don’t understand it, _Herr_ Schneider, she was perfectly normal one second, then she collapsed…” Nana replied as she shrugged her plump shoulders in bafflement.

 

“Taylor?” The formerly retired Vampire Killer asked hoarsely.

 

“He’s fine, thank the Lord,” the old woman reassured him. The little boy was the light of his parents’ lives, especially with how difficult Rosa’s pregnancy and delivery had been. “Rosa’s in the bedroom – I left the nursery door open so Taylor would go to sleep.”

 

“Thank you, Nana – you’re a Godsend,” Reinhardt praised her before running up the staircase.

 

He had built the moderate-sized two-story cottage with his own bare hands. Construction had started two years before his battle with Dracula and that fight had put the building of his home on hiatus. After meeting his wife Rosa, then cursed as a vampire under Dracula’s control, he found a second wind and with the help of his new adopted brother Henry Oldrey and adopted father-figure Cornell, had finished the construction in record time.

 

With a shaking hand the Vampire Killer pushed open the partially ajar door of the bedroom he shared with his wife of three years. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the open wooden shutters, the master bedroom was awash in blood-red light. Jaw clenching, he lit the candle that was waiting on the nightstand at the side of their bed before hurrying over to close and lock the shutters. His eyes lingered on the full moon, hanging in the black sky ominously, bloated and crimson, staining the landscape in the color of blood.

 

Deep in his heart, as a Vampire Killer, as a Belmont, he knew the appearance of that dreadful moon coupled by the supernatural horrors that had suddenly increased nearly almost a thousand fold… He knew Dracula walked the Earth again, waiting in his dark Castle, regaining his strength to strike at the humans he so loathed once more. Turning from the window, he looked at the still form on the bed.

 

Bundled under the covers, with a damp cloth on her pale brow, Rosa resembled her vampire incarnation so much it made Reinhardt’s heart skip a beat. Forgetting about the shutters, he walked stiffly over to beside the bed and fell soundlessly to his knees.

 

“Rosa…” he whispered hoarsely.

 

The pale figure stirred, dark eyelashes fluttering upwards to reveal tired cornflower blue eyes. Rosa Schneider’s eyes focused onto the distraught visage of her husband. “Reinhardt…?” the young woman’s normally vibrant, loving voice was weak and barely audible.

 

“I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright,” he said reassuringly; who he was trying to convince was unclear.

 

“I’m dieing.” Before he could protest her conclusion, she weakly lifted a hand, placing her cool, trembling fingertips against his warm lips. “Don’t argue with me, I know I am…and I know why…”

 

Reinhardt saw his wife’s eyes shift towards the wooden shutters to the ominous moon visible through the open slits.

 

“You and I both know...he has returned,” Rosa concluded, nearly out of breath. “Stop Dracula, Reinhardt – for me and our son…”

 

“Anything for you…” the grief-stricken Vampire Killer promised.

 

Rosa coughed violently, with such forced her body began to spasm before suddenly collapsing to lay deathly still on the large feather tick mattress.

 

“Rosa?!” He gently shook her shoulder, his voice and face tight with worry and fear. Gaining no response, he carefully placed his hand over her heart. A soft sob escaped him; she was dead. Her gentle heart would beat no more…

 

With infinite tenderness the grieving man brushed his fingertips over her eyelids, closing the blank eyes of his wife’s corpse. Rocking back on his boot heels, he could feel eyes on him. Turning his gaze towards the open shutters of the window, Reinhardt spotted a pair of malevolent crimson eyes peering at him, spying on his grief, drinking in his pain and sorrow.

 

Rage flared through him as he shot to his feet. The sudden movement startled the bat and with a high pitched shriek, it fled, tiny leather wings flapping frantically.

 

“Damn you, Dracula…” Reinhardt hissed, his fist clenching.

 

The creaking of leather brought him from his rage and carefully he uncurled his hands from the tight fists they had balled into. Inhaling a calming breath, he turned and looked down at his wife’s lifeless body. Reaching out with trembling fingers, he gently grasped the quit covering the bed, pulling it further up Rosa’s body until it covered her face. With a shaky breath, he released the quilt and exited the master bedroom, heading towards the staircase; his heavy boot falls sounded like death knells to the grief-stricken vampire killer as he descended the stairs.

 

Waiting for him was Nana and his blood-brother Henry. A single look at the tear-streaked visage of the normally stoic man told the two all they needed to know. Nana sniffled, murmuring a prayer as Henry reflexively crossed himself and muttered in Latin. Nana hurried past Reinhardt, dashing up the stairs as Henry caught the sagging Belmont heir.

 

Death had once more taken Rosa from him, but the odds of her coming back to him again were not in his favor…

 

 

 

* * *

 

_10 miles south-west of Minos Village, Walachia Province, Transylvania_

_April 1856_

 

Several towns away from the recently widowed Reinhardt Schneider, far off from the trade routes or any form of known pathway, was a small single story cottage. The cottage was heavily fortified, the acre and a half enclosed in a towering wooden fence composed of strong, split log timbers that could withstand tremendous force. Beside the cottage was a neatly tended vegetable garden surrounded by a small wooden fence to keep rabbits and other pests out. Located behind the cottage was a small stable, housing a milk cow and a swift mare; a tiny chicken coop was beside it.

 

Behind the tightly closed shuttered windows and locked doors was the owner of the cottage, the only person that could successfully lead anyone to the heavily fortified homestead, sleeping restlessly in the dark master bedchamber. As secure as it was against most forms of invasion, there was still one flaw – aerial attacks.

 

Descending from the cloudy sky was a rare sight – a black winged Harpy. The monster’s talons raked over the wooden shingles of the cottage. Inside the darkened bedroom, a lean form rolled suddenly, falling from the bed into a defensive crouch and reaching for a sheathed long-sword leaning against the night table. Darting out of the cottage, the owner glared up at the Harpy, sword unsheathed and held at the ready; the crimson moonlight piercing the heavy clouds made the platinum-hued hair of the defender look almost copper.

 

“No need for that,” the Harpy spoke as she came to roost on the edge of the cottage’s roost, staring down at the moonlit form, awash in that crimson light. Her massive black talons dug into the wooden shingles, cracking them under the force of her hold. “Master is returning and it has been requested of me to bring you an invitation. He wants you in his ranks.”

 

“I’m not interested -- I wasn’t _then_ , either if you recall.”

 

“A pity! Then you, like the mortals you _cower_ among, shall be **crushed** under Master’s heel,” the Harpy mocked before flapping her wings and taking to the air. _“Just remember that you could have ruled with us instead of becoming a slave!”_

 

Watching the black Harpy fly into the clouds, the lean figure waited several moments, waiting for a possible attack. Reassured finally that the Harpy was gone, the sword was sheathed once more; taking a deep calming breath, it was exhaled violently along with a virulent curse. “ _ **Dammit**_!”

 

The Dark Castle really **was** back. And so was Dracula.

 

“Not if I can help it. Looks like I will have to go after all – but it’ll be to **destroy** Dracula.”

 


	2. The Forest of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battling through the Forest of Silence, Henry and Reinhardt meet with an unexpected ally. Together the three must defeat the forest and it’s undead inhabitants in order to reach the Dark Castle looming in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GENRE: Supernatural/Action & Adventure  
> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, and Mild Sexual Situations  
> RATING: PG-13  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

_The Province of Walachia, Transylvania_

_May 1856_

 

It was midnight, in a large, unnaturally dark, silent, misty forest. And…it was raining.

 

A loud sneeze suddenly escaped the confines of the hood of the black cloaked form walking through the muddy clearing. Freezing mid-step, the figure listened intently, waiting to hear sounds of the enemy. Despite the expected, nothing stirred. Still they were waiting. But for what? For whom? It made very little sense – didn’t the lower leveled minions normally swarm intruders…?

 

The hooded head lifted, revealing sharp white facial features that glowed dimly in the light of the sputtering torches that sparsely lined the path to the Dark Castle. Silver eyes probed the inky darkness, looking easily into the night that most humans would find debilitating.

 

There were three things in particular that this solitary figure was not fond of – midnight, large unnaturally silent misty forests, and most of all **rain**. Exhaling noisily, the traveler trudged forward, the soggy rain-soaked ground all but trying to suck the black-cloaked trespasser down. Grumbling softly, the traveler had to stifle a yelp with it suddenly stumbled.

 

With a frown, the trespasser examined the source of it’s stumble. Protruding from the soil was a long thin cylinder-shaped object that had been one time white, but now was dingy beige; the end was rounded in a large knob and there was a faint fracture running up its length. Jaw clenching, the figure reached out with a gloved hand, gently gripping the knobbed end and tugged it out of the soggy ground with a soft suction sound.

 

Keen silver eyes studied the damaged human femur, nostrils flaring suddenly to take in the scent of Dracula’s magic. To those trained to detect it or having been surrounded by it, Dracula’s magic held a unique scent, one that several compared to burning brimstone, rotting flesh, and freshly spilled blood.

 

It was believed to be the scent of Hell itself.

 

Delicately pointed ears twitched at the soft sound of ancient bones unearthing themselves from rain-soaked soil, the first sign of actual resistance the traveler had encountered. To the left, several yards away beside a pair of charred lighting touched trees came a pair of skeleton warriors, human type. Mentally gauging the distance and weather conditions, strong slender hands clad in black leather gloves lifted a sacred bow from under the protection of the voluminous black cloak, deft fingers notching a blessed arrow as the skeletons’ turned their empty eye-sockets towards the trespasser.

 

The faint sound of bone rubbing against bone was warning that they prepared to attack; a blessed arrow shattered the sternum of one skeleton, destroying it. The second skeleton continued the forward movement automatically, only for an arrow to destroy it as well. Well they were certainly not used for the intelligence, were they…?

 

Replacing the bow under the heavy black cloak, the traveler frowned at the bone that caused it to stumble; the bone belonged to one of Dracula’s reanimated armies, that was a fact, but whom had defeated it? The ‘kill’ had been recent due to the amount of Dracula’s cursed magic remaining on it, meaning there was another Hunter ahead. A possible ally perhaps?

 

Turning away, the traveler continued onward…

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Apart they were formidable – together, they were unstoppable. With a skilled flick of his wrist, Reinhardt cracked his whip easily taking the skull off a skeleton warrior about to brain his comrade with a bone club. Henry didn’t bother to bat an eyelash, merely turned and shot another on coming skeleton in the spine millimeters below the sternum, shattering it. The two humans paused to regain their breath as they warily surveyed their surroundings.

 

The two men were nearly identical in appearance, clad in black leather armor over black clothing; peeking from under the neck of Reinhardt’s black armor was his ‘lucky’ red scarf. Both had shorn their hair close to their scalps in mourning and were armed heavily enough to aide them, but not enough to weigh them down in combat. The two were prepared for anything and out for blood against the Dark Prince – this was not just a Holy War of Light against Dark, it was now personal.

 

They could only hope that the requests for aide they had sent out to their scattered allies Cornell and Carrie Fernandez would reach them in time - to put Dracula down for good they’d need all the able bodies they could get. Part of them, perhaps the traditional masculine parts of their minds, hoped that young Carrie would be unable to make it and would remain safe from harm; they seemed to ignore the fact she was no longer as young as she’d been they first time they had battled against Dracula and that by now, she would be seen as a woman at the age of sixteen, ready to marry and start a family if she wished. Another fact they seemed to overlook was that as she aged, Carrie’s already formidable gifts grew and she had more time to learn how to control the mystical powers she wielded then the previous time before.

 

“Patrols,” Henry noted, crushing a partially intact skull under his armored boot, “This isn’t like last time. Then they attacked with sheer numbers and were never this well coordinated, but now they are luring us into ambushes and patrolling.”

 

”Both tactics serve the same purpose – buying Dracula time. Throw some servants at us in one way or another and we’ll be occupied destroying them while he gathers power and strength,” Reinhardt grunted before taking a small sip from the water skin to sooth his parched throat.

 

The fine hairs on the back of their necks rose at the sound of rusted metal screeching against stone far off in the distance, the sound echoing in the fog enshrouded forest. Someone or something had opened the final gate leading to the drawbridge of the Dark Castle. The Hunters shared a look of concern before taking off in a run towards the newly opened gate; the two had thought they were the first one’s to arrive. Was it Carrie? Cornell? Both? Or perhaps, could it be someone unknown to them?

 

With ruthless efficiency, the duo dispatched the skeletons that tried to hamper their way. Adrenaline ran through the men’s blood streams, giving their tired muscles a much needed boost of strength. Swiftly reducing their undead foes into piles of shattered bone, the two Hunters raced through the unnatural forest. The soupy mud pulled at their armored boots, the very ground itself trying to halt them on the behalf of Dracula.

 

The final gate stood wide open, the metal heavily rusted and covered with vines; an unearthly roar echoed hollowly through the mist, reverberating around Henry and Reinhardt. Bursting through the gateway, Henry’s keen eyes took note of a hastily discard pack and cloak. Metal clanged against magic infused bone; through the parting mist they could see a slender figure with long hair battling a massive skeletonal monster with a centaur-like body type – a humanoid upper body connecting to a long, winding lower half with four legs. The tail lashing behind it seemed prehensile and was tipped with a lethal looking bone barb.

 

Hissing a curse, Henry lifted his six-shooter and aimed for the monstrosity’s misshapen skull. Swinging it’s bone club, the monster managed to swat the human looking attacker into a stone wall. Bellowing in rage at the prospect of a potential ally killed, the blond knight opened fire. Reinhardt moved forward, hurling his throwing cross at the bone construct to buy Henry time to reload, darting across the rain soaked ground to the prone figure slumped limply against the rough-hewn stone wall. Reinhardt’s blue eyes ran over the lean figure, silently praying it wasn’t young Carrie…

 

Long, pale platinum-blond hair…black and crimson battle gear… It wasn’t her. Grunting, the form began to stir, oblivious to Reinhardt’s relief. He snapped out of it as the figure’s movement caught his attention; strapped to the warrior’s back was a sword's sheath and quiver while discarded on the ground was an ornate bow. Henry’s cursing made the Vampire Killer turn reflexively to see the Knight dodge the monster’s tail-barb.

 

“Need to secure it so a powerful strike will be successful,” a soft voice grunted in pain. The warrior.

 

“I think I can arrange that,” Reinhardt mused, uncoiling his whip and eyeing the monster with a calculating eye. He could take the rear set of legs and the tail out of play, which would take it off balance long enough for Henry and the newcomer to let loose. Their room was limited due to the fact the drawbridge – faintly visible through the mist that also concealed the cliff's edge – was still up. They'd have to do this right the first time.

 

“Then do it,” the warrior rasped, picking up the fallen bow and notching an arrow he had pulled swiftly from the quiver on his back.

 

Darting forward, Reinhardt lashed out with his whip; the blessed leather wrapped around the tail and hind legs as the creature reared up, the unholy creature’s bones burning at the contact. Grunting with exertion, the Heir of the Belmont Clan stubbornly dug his boot heels into the wet soil. The hind legs pulled together, sending the monster toppling over onto it’s knees with a roar.

 

Even hampered as it was, the unholy creature batted at the Knight with it’s bone club. Henry lunged to the side and was on the receiving end of a glancing blow to his side, sending him to the muddy ground. Sprawled in the muck with the wind knocked out of him, the blond gasped for breath as he aimed his six-shooter at the monster and opened fire; a bullet entered above the eye socket and ricocheted around in the creature’s skull.

 

An arrow suddenly embedded in the sternum of the undead creation, holy light flowing from the impact zone through the resulting cracks in the dry bone.

 

The sternum and ribcage exploded; Henry immediately scrambled out of the way of the collapsing monstrosity. Panting for breath, he turned to see his comrade skillfully freeing the blessed leather of his whip from the bones of the defeated creature. The warrior the creature had thrown into the wall was on his feet, still holding the ornate bow; long pale hair was brushed back from the archer’s unnaturally white face, exposing slightly pointed ears and sharp features.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Henry asked, wary now of the stranger.

 

“Draco,” was the archer’s curt reply as the pale-skinned warrior shifted, lowering his bow and moving to retrieve his cloak and pack.

 

“Why are you here? And why help us?” Reinhardt questioned suspiciously, watching the stranger searching for his fallen sword.

 

“We three have a similar destiny – destroy Dracula,” Draco replied blandly. “It seemed wiser to combine our strengths to ensure victory.”

 

Henry whirled at the faint rustling behind him, pulling the newest weapon from his arsenal from its sheath on his back. Leveling the shotgun at the mangled ‘face’ of the undead abomination, he squeezed the trigger; the blessed ammunition punched through the skull, exploding out the back. The creature collapsed to the damp soil, still and lifeless, it’s unholy existence ended once and for all.

 

Rusted metal against rusted metal suddenly screeched and pierced the air, causing the three Hunters to turn in unison to see the massive moss-covered draw bridge loweringWith a thud it landed on the wet, caked earth, providing the three entrance into the Dark Castle…

 

 

* * *

 

 

The pair had been traveling for almost a forenight, rushing towards their destiny once more. Both were garbed in dark clothing, carrying packs and weaponry; one was tall and moved with the grace of a skilled killer, while the other was petite and seemingly delicate. The taller of the two took point, seeming to scent the air for danger while his short comrade protected their rear. Both were prepared for an ambush, having been attacked several times already by the forces of evil. Crossing the foggy lake surrounding their target had gone with little incident, with evidence that others had carved a bloodied path before them possibly only hours before.

 

“I smell Henry and Reinhardt…and something else,” the taller one stated grimly, pulling back the hood of his long, thick black woolen tunic to look down at his comrade; his white hair and pale skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light offered by the torches. Even without his ability to change into a werewolf, he still retained his heightened senses. “There are three additional scents – a human female and two others that do not smell fully human…nor fully vampire. One carried an additional blood-scent that I do not recognize.”

 

“Could the two be infected Humans perhaps?” The other speculated in a soft, almost musical voice. Pushing back the hood of her calf-length robe, the blue-haired young woman looked up at him, her hair and smooth, creamy skin seeming to glow not from the torchlight, but from the mystical power she carried within her.

 

Calm crimson met worried gold as the two looked at one another. The man’s sharp, feral features were contorted into a deep frown of concern for the two men ahead of them.

 

“Maybe. One of the scents was with the female, while the other is with our comrades. If both are infected and turn unexpectedly…” the man’s deep tenor trailed off.

 

“Worry for the woman and not our brethren; you trained Henry yourself, Cornell, remember? And Reinhardt too, after the Fall,” the young woman reminded him. “Besides, they aren’t fools – they both will have provisions and among them will be purifying crystals.”

 

The former werewolf looked down at his young apprentice. The Heiress of the Belenades Clan, Carrie Fernandez was a formidable sorceress and a highly skilled hunter. Still, he worried for her and the two men he had trained…and in Henry and Carrie’s cases respectively, practically raised as his own cubs along side his mate Ada. After rescuing her from Dracula’s Dark Castle all those years ago, the former werewolf had come clean with the young woman who he had deceived for so long – she hadn’t been his sister, merely an orphan child he’d rescued when his pack had slaughtered her family and that he’d left for his training because of the feelings he had began to develop for her, which had been far from brotherly. It had floored him when she had merely smiled at him and replied that she’d known the truth for a while now, that she’d figured it out when she was younger and unable to transform into a werewolf herself.

 

Mentally Cornell shook himself from his mental wanderings; in such a place like the Forest of Silence, such a thing could bring about one’s death.

 

“We should rendezvous with them shortly—“ his words were interrupted by the sound of the drawbridge lowering, which echoed eerily in the unnatural silence of the forest. “Damnation but they’re fast!”

 

The pair darted forward at the former werewolf’s proclamation.

 

“Then we must be faster,” Carrie exclaimed, “Or our brethren will have all the fun!”

 


	3. Chapter Two: In The Dark Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the Dark Castle at last, will the pair manage to survive the dangers lurking inside…and each other? Mistrust is abound between Draco and the determined pair of Hunters as Carrie and Cornell race against time and the forces of Darkness to join up with their comrades Henry and Reinhardt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GENRE: Supernatural/Action & Adventure  
> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, Mild Sexual Situations  
> RATING: PG-13  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

**CHAPTER TWO: IN THE DARK CASTLE**

_The Province of Walachia, Transylvania, Dracula’s Castle, Castle Wall_

_May 1856, 2:16 a.m._

 

“Looks like we won’t have to fight our way through here,” Reinhardt mused, eyeing the opened Gates as he, Henry, and Draco stepped off of the drawbridge into the Castle Wall of the Dark Castle.

 

“Good,” Draco replied curtly as he strode forward, passing the other two Hunters impatiently, entering the antechamber. He seemed not to notice the pile of yellowed bones resting beside an ornate torch bolted to the floor.

 

“Something’s not right…” Henry muttered warily. He didn’t trust the situation…or the newcomer for that matter.

 

The sudden screech of rusted metal was their only warning; Draco covered his pointed ears tightly with his gloved hands in agony at the deafening sound as both gates suddenly slammed closed, trapping him in the antechamber.

 

“This…is **not** funny,” Draco growled when Henry failed at muffling his laughter, audible even with the ringing in the Archer’s ears. “Get me out of here.”

 

“Why? We have no clue if you are who you claim to be. And for that matter, the last _person_ that had your type of pallor and ears like that wanted to rip my throat out,” Reinhardt stated, crossing his arms over his chest, the leather armor creaking slightly from his movements.

 

“So you knew the Gates would close like this and trap me here while you make your ridiculous accusations?” Draco growled in annoyance, his long hands flexing under his black leather gloves as he pushed his cloak open.

 

“Not at all, but it certainly was convenient for that to happen.” Henry replied, his gloved hand hovering over the butt of his six-shooter. “Now answer the questions or I have a bit of fun seeing how you react to blessed bullets.”

 

Draco tensed, drawing an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back, lifting his bow and notching the arrow at inhuman speed. Henry was fast as well, yanking his six-shooter free from its holster and aiming it between the newcomer’s silvery eyes, the hammered pulled back. The tension in the air coiled around the three Hunters; it shattered when the yellowed pile of ones shifted suddenly, rising up. Decaying jaws opening, a miniature of the bone serpents the two Human born Hunters face years ago hissed.

 

This one, however, wasn’t stationary and it was fast, launching itself at Draco. The archer turned and his bow and drawn arrow clattered to the stone floor as he as forced to drop them, his gloved hands lashing out to grasp the creature’s neck bones to keep the creature from ripping his throat out. Sharp bones curled around his torso, constricting tightly; the bone sawed into the leather of his jacket and he found himself gasping for breath at the pressure on his ribcage.

 

“N-no…” Draco groaned in pain. He couldn’t die now – he had to stop Dracula!

 

Lifting its tail revealed a wicked looking barb, which the serpent drove into the archer’s back, shoulder level, piercing through the thick leather of his jacket. Blood sprayed as the barb was savagely yanked out. The sharp report of Henry’s six-shooter was deafening in the small antechamber, echoing loudly off the stone walls, floor and ceiling; the sharp barb on the tip of the bone serpent’s tail was blown off by the blessed bullet, causing the unholy creature to shriek in pain and outrage. It drew the splintered end across Draco’s back; the leather of his jacket tore and blood dripped to the stone floor.

 

* * *

 

Reinhardt darted into the right hand door with the battered moon emblem; it took only a second for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light and he darted up the winding staircase, his eyes taking in the damage and changes to the tower. Unlike before, massive chunks of the winding staircase and central support tower were missing, looking as though a massive monster had been in its death throes.

 

His quick mind analyzed the differences in a split second and reacted accordingly, agilely bouncing over a missing portion of the staircase. Many of the guillotine traps had been destroyed and Reinhardt could smell faint traces of gun-powder lingering in the air. His armored boots pounded against the stone, the crumbling shards falling from the edges landing on the stone floor below.

 

Hurry. The urge echoed in the back of his mind. The tower was collapsing and Draco was fighting for his life. Was the pale archer their ally? Could he be like the legendary Alucard? Possible. The Hunter gritted his teeth, clutching at the hilt of his whip.

 

_Hurry…_

 

* * *

 

The report of Henry’s six-shooter announced the removal of the sharp tip of the creature’s ‘beak’. Screeching in pain, it tightened around Draco’s ribs; the sound of the archer’s ribs cracking seemed to echo in the antechamber.

 

“Guhhhh...” Draco groaned in pain, futilely trying to pry free from the painful grip the monster had on him. If he wavered the strength of his grip for even a second, the serpent would rip his throat out; going for the sword strapped to his back was out of the question. At least the hardened leather of the quiver he wore was protecting the blessed arrows within...

 

Rusted metal screamed in protest once more and grated loudly against stone as the Gate separating Henry from the archer lifted slowly; the Knight darted forward, rolling under the slowly opening Gate, reloading as he moved. Coming up on a knee, he raised the pistol as decaying fangs snapped forward, sinking into the padded leather covering Draco’s already wounded shoulder.

 

Henry fired his weapon, the gunshot echoing loudly as the back of the monster’s skull exploded. The bone-serpent’s body decayed rapidly, crumbling into pieces against the archer’s wounded body. Staggering, Draco fell to his knees, clutching the his injured shoulder and breathing harshly. Cursing, the knight leaned over, pulling the archer up to his feet, allowing the smaller, wounded man to lean against him. A pained hiss reminded Henry of the other’s injured ribs.

 

The stone beneath their feet shuddered and to their ears they could make out the rumbling of falling stone…and Reinhardt’s profanities, right before he landed hard in the hallway outside the antechamber.

 

“Sonova…” Reinhardt cursed, coughing and choking on the resulting dust from the collapsing stone.

 

Rising to his feet, the Vampire Killer hurried into the antechamber where he saw Draco swaying on his feet as Henry held a blood soaked cloth in place on the archer’s back where the bone-serpent had stabbed him; the black leather armor the archer wore was deeply gouged around his midsection and shoulder.

 

“How bad?” The Vampire Killer asked of his sword-brother, idly brushing dirt and debris from his leather armor.

 

“I heard his ribs cracking before the Gate opened and it skewered him with its tail barb; looks like the leather of his armor was thick enough to protect his midsection and shoulder,” the Knight rattled off; while not as skilled in the medicinal arts as Ada or Carrie, he had enough experience from battlefield wounds to know what he was talking about.

 

“I’ll be fine, just leave me alone,” Draco growled irritably before sniping, “I’m a possible vampire, remember?”

 

“So far you’ve not tried to rip our throats out, but for all we know, you’re a spy leading us into a trap…” Henry stated.

 

Reinhardt nodded in agreement of his adopted brother’s logic. “So don’t be too offended if we decide to keep you around for a shield…”

 

One of Draco’s pale brows twitched in barely repressed anger. “Just for that, I think I’ll leave your asses the first chance I get! I might not be fully Human, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have emotions and right now my sense of outrage and indignation urges me to kick your sorry asses all over this Castle!”

 

“You complain like a woman!” The Vampire Killer mocked the archer.

 

Henry rolled his eyes at the antics of his shield-brother. One of these days, that big mouth and hot temper of his would get him killed. He had a feeling that if it wasn’t for Draco’s wounded state and the knight’s own presence, the archer would be trying to kill the tanned Hunter. Suppressing a sigh, he eyed his shield-brother, taking in the man’s ruffled appearance and the additions of new bruises and cuts on his face.

 

“What was all that racket anyway?” Henry inquired lazily.

 

“Ehhh…ran into a few more of those, actually…” Reinhardt sighed, gesturing to the remains of the bone serpent. “Fire, ice, and electric types mostly…”

 

* * *

 

_Reinhardt sighed in relief, leaning against the wooden pillar supporting the switch controlling the Outer Gate. Henry could handle that bone-serpent with a single shot the Hunter knew. Pushing himself straight, he turned, surveying the tower room with a critical eye; the room looked to have housed some sort of nest in the corner and bore signs of damage like the tower below. The stone rumbled softly under his feet and he tensed at the sound of something scraping against the stone floor in the shadows of the room. A flicker of orange flame was his only warning; expertly Reinhardt tumbled out of the way of the incoming fireball._

 

_Crouching, the Vampire Killer gripped the hilt of his whip; with a flick of his wrist, it unfurled from around his trim waist and cracked in the stagnant air of the tower room. Bone scoured against the stone floor as a bone-serpent slithering into view, its decaying bones seemingly reddish-tinged. The experienced Hunter felt the fine hairs on the nape of his neck rise and he immediately ducked to the side as an iceball impacted millimeters away from where he was. A quick glance behind him showed another of the bone-serpents, this one tinged a pale blue._

 

_The sounds of bone against stone echoed several times in the tower room. There were more then fifteen of the creatures surrounding him._

 

“… _shit.”_

 

* * *

 

“Well, that explains a lot…” the archer murmured, smirking.

 

“Like what?” Reinhardt asked crossly.

 

“Like why you look both frozen and charbroiled…and don’t even get me started on your hair…” Draco retorted snidely.

 

Reflexively the Belmont heir ran a gloved hand over his short red hair and yelped softly when he shocked himself. Draco’s derisive laughter caused the man to snarl.

 

“I **really** hate you,” Reinhardt ground out, his eyebrow twitching and a vein noticeable on his temple.

 

“Just try not to kill each other while I go open the Inner Gate,” Henry chided the two, exasperation evident in his voice. Honestly, they were acting like _children_ …

 

“Move swiftly,” grumbled his red-haired comrade as he glowered at the mysterious archer.

 

“Of course,” the Knight drawled as he departed the antechamber, heading for the other door.

 

Draco eyed the Inner Gate warily as the Knight left, certain he saw _something_ moving in the darkness beyond it. Of course the fact he’d been so easily trapped by the gates gnawed on his subconscious mind. The pale archer turned to question Reinhardt, whom was staring out at the shadows of the still lowered draw bridge.

 

“It reeks of a trap,” Draco said softly; Reinhardt made a long, deep sound in his throat to indicate a wordless agreement to the partially human warrior’s statement.

 

“So you feel it too. It’s like this tower was primed and reset; the open gates but raised draw bridge suggest one of Dracula’s higher level minions lurking about or that someone – something – opens and closes the drawbridge and Gates at set intervals.”

 

“…Then I hope that whatever assistance you have coming, hurries.”


	4. Chapter Three: Into the Villa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> United at last, Cornell and his apprentices must find that trusting the mysterious Draco might become necessary as they venture deeper into the Dark Castle…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, Mild Sexual Situations  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

**CHAPTER THREE: INTO THE VILLA**

_The Province of Walachia, Transylvania, Dracula’s Castle, Castle Wall_

_May 1856, 2:16 a.m._

 

The gloomy light of the rainy forest was suddenly lit up as two melon sized globes of compressed lightning streaked through the air, shrinking marginally as the contained power smashed through multiple undead foes; seconds after the last skeleton was destroyed the lightning balls dissipated into nothingness. The wet breeze caused her calf length robe’s hem to flutter slightly as the young sorceress strode forward regally, her companion scenting the air and studying the rain-soaked soil before them.

 

“They definitely killed something big – good thing you’ve packed all those healing potions, they might need it. That second scent I told you about before I most certainly with them,” Cornell reported as he stood from where he had crouched to study a particularly interesting piece of debris from their comrade’s previous battle.

 

“Then we must quicken our pace,” Carrie murmured.

 

With a soft grunt of agreement, the silvery-haired man moved forward, the young woman moving behind him swiftly. After a few moments of their fast-paced travel, the heavy fog of the unnatural forest shifted, allowing them to see the remains of what their brethren had defeated…and the still lowered drawbridge and opened Gate. Wary of a possible ambush or trap, the duo darted forward; they were only a third of the way down the length of the drawbridge when the ancient wood beneath their boots shuddered and groaned.

 

Running full tilt, Carrie let loose several curses that Reinhardt had unknowingly taught her; her big oaf of a ‘brother’ was the sort to hide his pain until he thought he was alone before venting his frustrations. Cornell snarled savagely as the drawbridge jerked hard enough for them both to stumble and fall flat on their posteriors. With a scream and a curse coming from the respective parties, both were sent sliding down the worn, ancient planks of the drawbridge into the darkness of the still open gate leading into the Castle Wall…

-

-

-

The groan of ancient, decaying wood mingled with the shriek of rusted metal chains as the drawbridge shuddered and lifted suddenly.

 

“Two incoming!” Draco snapped suddenly, bringing up his bow and reaching for an arrow, his pale face tight in pain.

 

A familiar female scream reached Reinhardt’s ears. “No, wait!”

 

The Vampire Killer moved to halt the archer’s impending attack as the drawbridge slammed closed and a pair of darkly garbed figures rolled hard and fast into the Killer and Archer, sending all four rolling in a tangle of limbs. They halted by slamming into the rusted metal of the still closed Inner Gate. Reinhardt groaned in pain, his legs aching and the back of his skull pounding; his eyes opened into narrow slits to find himself in an awkward position – a bead of sweat appeared on the back of his head as he found himself face down in Draco’s lap.

 

How did he know it was Draco? The belt buckle, an ornate D with a dragon motif, was a dead giveaway. Pressure on his back told him he was near on the bottom of the living dogpile on the wounded archer; it felt as though his adopted sister Carrie was on his legs and his foster father Cornell was square on his back.

 

“ **OFF**. _NOW_!” The irate Draco snarled, pain audible in his terse order.

 

Reinhardt felt the weight of his foster father shifting on his back and heard the familiar grumbling of his sister as she removed herself from his legs. When the weight was gone, he pushed himself up and scrambled off the irritable archer. Rising carefully to his feet, Draco eyed the newcomers warily.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” The tall, silver-haired man with feral features asked of the pair he and the female with blue hair had knocked over. The sharpness of his facial features and the shaggy nature of his silver hair screamed wolf to the archer.

 

Draco studied the pair warily; the male was tall and had a lean, athletic build showing speed and agility along with sheer strength, much like Reinhardt while the female was around the average height for a woman, making her petite in the crowd of taller male Hunters; in fact, she was a half a head shorter then Draco. Both wore dark clothing to blend in with the terrain, but at the collar of the dark hooded robe the female wore was a hint of white lace from the blouse she wore underneath; their boots were sturdy and showed that they had traveled swiftly over a long distance from the mud splattered over the leather and at the hem of her robe and the bottoms of his durable pants.

 

“A new pest,” Reinhardt was explaining to the pair as the archer studied them, “miniatures of the bone serpents from the tower…”

 

“And just who are you people?” Draco demanded crossly with a hand on the sword sheathed on his back beside the quiver of arrows, his ribs aching along with the new bumps and bruises he’d just acquired in the tumble.

 

“We could ask the same of you,” the blue-haired female retorted, her maroon eyes narrowed as she examined the archer before her; he was just over average height for a man, his garb black trimmed in red with long platinum-blond hair, his skin of an unnatural pallor, silvery-eyes and pointed ears – non-human, definitely non-human.

 

Biting back the urge to curse, the pale-haired archer straightened his back and squared his shoulders despite the pain it caused him. “I am Draco – like you, I am here to destroy Dracula.”

 

“Really? Why would one who smells so much like a vampire seek to kill the Vampire Lord?” the feral-looking man asked, arching a silver brow.

 

“Why would a werewolf, whose kind are nothing more then the Vampire Lord’s servants?” the archer shot back defiantly.

 

“Touché,” murmured the silver-haired man. “My name among humans is Cornell; the young Lady is Carrie Fernandez.”

 

“Where is Henry anyway?” Carrie asked of Reinhardt.

 

“Running around getting into trouble, where else?” Reinhardt retorted.

-

-

-

Running around getting into trouble indeed...

 

Henry could feel the sweat plastering his undershirt to his skin; his shield-brother hadn’t been joking about the miniature bone serpents – they were quite dangerous in packs. At least he hadn’t encountered any of the electrical variety; he liked his hair as it was and didn’t want a matching look to Reinhardt’s own.

 

Looking around warily, he approached the switch controlling the Inner Gate. Once it was raised, he’d rejoin the others and then they would charge into the Villa…

 

He hadn’t been there in years, not since he rescued those kidnapped children. Still, even with the time that had passed, the blond knight was nervous to approach the Castlevania twisted version of his childhood home. Was the monster that had once been the gardener and his stone pets still lumbering around in the garden maze?

 

Shaking away his doubts and nervousness, Henry reached out and gripped the handle of the switch and yanked it upward. Seconds later he heard the now familiar screeching of rusted metal and stone as the Inner Gate lifted…

-

-

-

Draco tensed, biting on the inside of his cheek to hide a cringe at the pain caused as the sound of the rusted metal grating against stone assaulted his ears; standing so close to the opening Gate, the noise was nearly deafening to the half-breed’s sensitive ears. _‘Wonderful, a worsening headache to accompany all my_ _ **other**_ _aches…’_ the archer thought sourly, rubbing his ringing ears.

 

The former werewolf was grimacing as well; Cornell’s ears had not lost their super-human sensitivity after he had lost his ability to transform into a werewolf. Shaking his head, he managed to clear away the resulting ringing that had occurred in the after effects of raising the Inner Gate leading into the Castle’s Villa. If memory served, and the structure remained relatively unchanged, there was the entryway to the Villa Henry’s family had lived in waiting beyond the inky darkness…

 

Cornell’s head snapped to the side, his sensitive hearing detecting the return of his first apprentice. The tall blond knight strode back into the antechamber, dusting off his black leather armor. There were new scrapes and bruises visible on what little of his tanned skin showed, but he was walking fine. Pleased with his prognosis, Cornell looked at the newcomer of their group, noticing that the archer’s attention seemed to be riveted to what lay beyond the gateway the blond knight had opened.

 

Curious, the lanky former wolfman turned, peering through the inky night and dimly lit torches to see nothing. As he was about to look away, however, he caught sight of what had captured the archer’s attention – faintly glowing in the dim light was a pair of crimson eyes that vanished. Cornell bit back a curse, recalling what was probably in store for them; this time though, they were in a group and hopefully wouldn’t be too badly out numbered.

 

“You saw it as well,” the long-haired archer murmured.

 

“Yes. If I recall correctly, we have a few hellhounds and a Cerberus waiting for us,” Cornell agreed, flexing his hands.

-

-

-

A _few_. Draco snarled loudly in a combination of pain and irritation; obviously the former werewolf had a **talent** for the _understatement_.

 

The moment they had exited the Castle Wall, the Gate had slammed closed, cutting off any possible avenue of escape. Carrie’s hands lifted, twin globes of energy forming against her palms in preparation. She didn’t have to wait long, hurling the first globe at the hellhound that leapt from the bushes lining the walled walkway leading to the Villa.

 

As the second and third hellhounds came into view from the niches to the right and left of the gate leading into the Villa proper, Reinhardt and Henry unleashed their respective weapons. The former werewolf reached for the pair of long daggers sheathed at his belt as Draco lifted his bow, an arrow notched.

 

As the archer unleashed the blessed arrow, Cornell darted forward as the fourth hellhound cleared the closed Villa gates. With a graceless thud, the unholy creature slammed into the ground with the shaft of the dispatched arrow protruding from its massive shoulder. With a fearsome snarling, the hellhound struggled to its feet; in a blur of movement the silver-haired man had decapitated the creature.

 

There was no time to rest yet; Cornell was already advancing on the fifth hellhound…no, from the trio of heads it possessed as it came fully into view properly identified it as a Cerberus. The larger demonic canine growled low in it’s throats at the former werewolf and the head on it’s right yelped with a blessed arrow was suddenly embedded in it’s left eyesocket.

 

The air crackled with mystical energy as the first Hellhound’s corpse hit the damp ground, its head and most of its shoulder incinerated. Her robe’s skirt billowing about her legs, Carrie formed another pair of orbs, throwing one at the hindquarters of the Cerberus. As the demon began to turn to snarl at her, the second orb slammed into the side of its left head. Its massive mouth opened, a red glow visible; the magic-user lunged to the side as the center head unleashed its hellfire attack.

 

Her robe was singed and reflexively she rolled across the damp grass, smothering any remaining live embers. Rolling into a deep crouch, she brought her hands together, swiftly forming a larger, more powerful orb. The demon’s shift in attention cost it dearly as Cornell threw one of his long, blessed daggers. It embedded deep into the throat of the center head, Gunfire echoed loudly as Henry darted towards the staggering Cerberus, the blessed bullets impacting in its massive shoulders and chest.

 

Blessed arrows and bullets hailed the demon sporadically, lessening to allow Cornell, Carrie, and Reinhardt – whom had joined in with an ambush on its unattended side – a chance to cripple and herd the three-headed demon back to the niche on the right side of the Villa’s gate while the long ranged fighters reloaded their respective weapons.

 

With an unearthly howl, the demonic canine collapsed; the trio of male Hunters – Cornell, Henry and Reinhardt – leapt at the downed creature with their blades drawn. The archer remained poised by the vigilante Carrie as each of the three took a head of the defeated Cerberus. As the defeated demon’s corpse collapsed, Draco scanned the area warily with an arrow notched and drawstring taunt. With an elegant flick of her wrists, the magic-user dispersed the pair of mystical orbs she had summoned.

 

“Do you see anything?” Carrie asked the long-haired archer.

 

“Nothing yet,” he murmured, releasing the tension in the drawstring slowly before returning the arrow to the quiver strapped to his back.

 

“Sun’s rising soon,” Henry stated as the trio rejoined them. “If the Villa’s not changed too much this time around, we should be able to rest and tend our wounds in the Master suite.”

 

“Will you be hampered by the Daylight?” the Vampire Killer asked Draco while coiling his whip with a practiced, almost subconscious ease.

 

“No – I do not have that weakness – my human blood grants me immunity to damage from the sun’s light.” the Archer replied while retrieving blessed arrows from t he remains of their defeated foes.

 

“Thought so – the legendary Alucard was said to be a Daywalker…” Reinhardt murmured, following as Cornell took point.

 

The Knight and Vampire Killer flanked Carrie reflexively as Cornell lead them into the courtyard, while Draco followed along to cover the rear, feeling once more out of place with the well trained unit before him, his silvery eyes leaving their backs to scan the walkway wall as they approached the Villa’s courtyard...


	5. Chapter Four: The Haunted Villa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving at the Villa, they find it in a state of disrepair and with new occupants...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, Mild Sexual Situations  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE HAUNTED VILLA**

_The Province of Walachia, Transylvania, Dracula’s Castle, The Villa_

_May 1856, 5:53 a.m._

 

Aside from the occasional ghost or zombie, the courtyard was rather peaceful as they approached the Villa. Draco personally found the gravestones with the names of their intended occupants already carved into them to be rather morbid and puzzled over the point of the pillar leading to the top of the fountain in the center of the courtyard before dismissing it as a Castlevania addition. Predawn light peeked through the occasional break in the clouds as the five adventurers walked towards the double doors of the Villa’s front entrance; their boots made a softly echoing clop-clop against the stone stairs.

 

Henry gazed at what had once been the entrance of his childhood home; time had not been kind – the runner that covered the stairs had rotten away in many places to expose the cracked stone beneath and the sphinx statues flanking the entrance were crumbling and chipped. The heavy wooden doors leading inside were hanging askew, torchlight flickering softly inside the main hall.

 

“I’m home,” the Knight mumbled to himself softly, his armored shoulders slumped with sorrow.

 

Cornell’s pointed ears seemed to twitch and the Archer watched in confusion as the former Werewolf gently clasped the blond’s shoulder in a paternal manner. “No, this is _not_ your home, pup, merely a twisted version of where you and your parents lived. **Home** is in your memories and with those you _love_.”

 

Head tilting, Henry studied the solemn face of the former wolfman. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you.”

 

“Not a problem, pup. Let’s get going…”

 

As though sensing the end of their conversation, Reinhardt stepped forward and forced open the double doors. The weak torchlight washed over them fully as they stepped into the Villa. Draco scanned the foyer, noticing the fallen chandelier blocking the staircase leading to the second level; several extinguished torches were knocked over in the foyer and the wallpaper was peeling to reveal cracks in the wall beneath.

 

Henry closed his eyes. Of course it’d be like this; no one was tending to the place like Rosa did the last time…

 

“The Master Suite is upstairs – it shouldn’t take long to move the chandelier…” Henry said after clearing his throat.

 

“Right, let’s move it then…” Draco said before scowling as Cornell shook his head.

 

“Not with how you’ve been favoring your ribs. Stay with Carrie, let us three handle this,” the feral man ordered.

 

As the three men headed for the blocked off stairs, the Archer turned to Carrie and asked in a disbelieving tone, “Are you going to let him talk about you as if you are not here?”

 

“As much as it galls me, the old wolf’s **right** – I’m not _useful_ when it comes to _heavy_ lifting,” the magic-user grumbled, crossing her arms under her breasts. “I could just **blast** it, but I’d probably end up taking out the _stairs_ as well.”

 

“Hn,” the Archer’s grunt was soft and vaguely noncommittal, but he seemed satisfied with her explanation.

 

With the three men, it didn’t take long until the chandelier was hefted up and over the rail of the staircase to smash down onto the hardwood floor. Carrie seemed to glide forward with Draco trailing behind her.

 

“Well,” she sighed, “if they didn’t know we were here **before** , they do _now_ …”

 

“It wasn’t _that_ loud.” Reinhardt protested sheepishly only to be on the receiving end of a pair of identical dirty looks from Cornell and Draco, reminding him of their heightened sense of hearing. “…or maybe it _was_ …”

 

With Henry in the lead, the band of adventurers moved up the creaking staircase to the second level. The single door to the left of the stairs needed to be forced open; their fall of their boots to the marble floor seemed to echo loudly in the short corridor as they approached the open double doors at the end. Draco scented the air; the fragrance of roses was predominate above the scents of his companions and he noticed how _tense_ Reinhardt and the others appeared – he could actually _hear_ the increased pace of their hearts.

 

The Archer’s silvery eyes adapted swiftly in the weak predawn light as they stepped into the rose garden; it was a circular room that was partially open to the elements to allow sunlight to stream in to reach the overgrown roses. Carrie gave a sad smile of understanding as she watched Reinhardt walk over to the only cluster of red roses among the white and various shades of pink. With a clasp to the Vampire Killer’s shoulder, the Knight moved past him to open the single door leading from the garden.

 

Draco watched as the other three left Reinhardt with the cluster of red roses. As the Archer watched, the red-haired man leaned to his side, unsheathing a small double-bladed dagger before straightening; carefully he cut the stems of the red roses, pulling them free of their differently colored brethren. Returning the dagger to its sheath, he reached up and pulled a red scarf free from where it was tucked under his armor. As he turned and began to stride over to the single door where the Archer stood, Reinhardt tenderly wrapped the roses in the fabric of the scarf.

 

He looked up and the Vampire Killer’s blue eyes met the inhuman silver of the Archer, who had a look of puzzlement despite his normally stoically set features. Silently he placed the wrapped roses in his satchel as he walked by the dhampire. Baffled, the half-breed followed the human.

 

When they had all assembled inside the master suite, Cornell looked over the other adventurers. “There’s this room and a sitting room in the suite – if we rotate watches, we should all be able to get a couple hours rest. Draco, Reinhardt, Henry, you all look like shit, so we'll assess your injuries and those with the most severe shall have the last watch.”

 

“I’m fine, just a few scrapes and bruises and being as filthy as I am, I probably look worse then I am – same can be said for Reinhardt. Could use a nap though…” the Knight mused.

 

“I’m fine,” Draco grumbled irritably, shifting his weight off his aching ribs.

 

“Great, another one I need to break from that habit,” Carrie sighed in annoyance as she leveled a glare at the dhampire. “Take off everything from the waist up so I can treat those ribs of yours.”

 

“You know I’m not human. I heal fast. Trust me, I’m _fine_ ,” the Archer insisted.

 

Henry arched a brow at Reinhardt; the red-haired man smirked back at the Knight before reaching out and jabbing the Archer in the ribs with his long, bony forefinger near the tear in the back of his leather jacket. Draco reacted instantly by jumping and spinning gracefully while descending back to the carpeted floor to snarl at the Vampire Killer, flashing sharp, pearly white fangs in his aggravation.

 

“What the Hell was that for?!” Draco snapped, eyes flashing for a split-second from silver to crimson before returning to silver.

 

“Those ribs don’t look fine to me,” Reinhardt retorted dryly.

 

An amused snort escaped Cornell as he watched the pups interact; perhaps it wouldn’t be as hard as he thought to bring the Archer into the Pack…

 

If looks could kill, Reinhardt would probably be twelve-feet under from the look Draco was giving him as the younger man snapped, “All that will be done is binding my ribs. They’re already bound, so it’s a waste of time.”

 

“Why are your ribs bound?” Henry asked, frowning in confusion.

 

“I cracked a rib a few days before coming here,” Draco stated nonchalantly. “I found myself fighting off a harpy to defend a child it wanted to take.”

 

“What?!” Carrie gasped, startled; lightning flickered at her fingertips in reaction to her sudden anxiety.

 

“I found out Dracula had returned through a Harpy,” the Archer sighed. “All I need is rest and food. Don’t waste your time and supplies on me when you’ll probably need them later for yourself.”

 

“Alright,” Cornell agreed, raising a hand to cut off Carrie’s protest; it wouldn’t do to bring sudden mistrust and tension to the potential Pack member when he already didn’t trust the lot of them, otherwise he might take off and leave them, and he was too valuable with his superior senses to lose now. “You and Carrie will rest first and take the last shift. Reinhardt, Henry, you two will scout the building and return here.”

 

“Will we be taking over your watch?” Henry asked his adopted father.

 

“No. You two will rest, and then when I wake Carrie and Draco for their shift, I’ll rest. Hopefully around noon we’ll all be recovered enough to continue,” the former Werewolf stated. “Then we’ll be ready to face The Maze.”

 

“Maze?” Draco asked, arching a pale brow at the tone the older man used – it was a combination of dread and anticipation. “What maze?”

 

“The Garden Maze. Or as we call it, the Maze From Hell,” Henry informed the newcomer to the group with a shudder of horror.

 

“I see,” the Archer deadpanned.

 

Carrie, bored of the men’s conversation, looked over the bed of the master suite and tentatively poked one of the pillows; she was relieved to see no signs of lice or fleas, just a thick layer of dust. Carefully she ran her hands over the coverlet, brushing off the dust off. Feeling eyes on her and no longer hearing the men conversing, she looked up to meet Draco’s silvery eyes.

 

“I’ll take one of the sofas,” he stated. “The bed is yours.”

 

She watched as he turned away and began inspecting the sofas. Carrie turned and picked up one of the pillows from the bed.

 

“Here,” Carrie offered, tossing the pillow towards the pale-haired Archer. Without looking in her direction, the dhampire snagged the pillow from mid-air.

 

Cornell settled into an overstuffed armchair, sneezing at the dust that rose from the movement. His keen eyes scanned the room, running over the interaction between his adopted daughter and the newcomer before pausing on the door leading to the sitting room. The door opened and Henry stepped out of the adjoining room.

 

“It’s clear,” he informed the former Werewolf as Carrie crawled on top of the bed.

 

“Good. Be careful, pup.”

 

“Of course,” Henry snorted, exiting the Master Suite to Join Reinhardt outside in the corridor.

-

-

-

“Nice of you to join me,” Reinhardt muttered to his sword-brother.

 

“Had to check the sitting room,” Henry retorted nonchalantly with a slight shrug.

 

The pair headed into the corridor, Reinhardt walking towards the store room while Henry lashed out with a kick to take off the head of a stained glass Knight. The Vampire Killer checked the door; finding it unlocked, he opened it to find the small room empty and dusty. Closing the door, he turned to find Henry dispatching the other stained glass Knight that came from the window further down the corridor.

 

“Cleared,” Reinhardt informed the blond Knight.

 

“Shall we check the dining room and library first or the ballroom and garden maze exit?” Henry mused.

 

“We could split up and then meet up outside the servant’s entrance downstairs,” the Vampire Killer suggested.

 

“Right. I’ll check the dining room then. See you shortly.” Henry agreed, heading for the far end of the hallway.

 

Reinhardt turned to face one of the entrances to the ballroom. With a faint sigh, he reached out and opened the door…

-

-

-

The dining room was empty, the massive mirror and several of his mother’s chairs broken. His footfalls quiet, he slipped into the short corridor leading to his father’s library. It bothered him how quiet the Villa was – aside from the signs of disrepair, some of the things looked to have been broken by something…or someone. It was like someone had come before them and there had been signs of that in the forest.

 

Of course, then they met up with Draco and that seemed to answer that puzzle, but even with the Archer joining their group, the signs persisted…could it be another adventurer? Was it that Charles Vincent they had met last time? Or could it be someone else?

 

The library door creaked as the Knight opened it. Leaving the door open, Henry stepped inside, scanning the room; his eyes lingered on his father’s desk, the memory of his childhood lessons in reading and writing being learned there welling up. As he took a step closer, the door behind him suddenly slammed close with a loud creak. Spinning, he reached for his revolver to find the door closed, but nothing else.

 

With a long stride, Henry approached the door with a hand on his revolver; he tried the doorknob with his free hand to find it locked. Biting back a curse, he found he could see his breath and the fine hair on the nape of his neck rose. In a single swift movement, he turned while pulling his weapon free of its holster, leveling it at empty air.

 

Slowly, cautiously, he moved forward, his eyes scanning the library for his foe. The room still appeared empty and the air was frigid, reminding him of when Cornell would train them in the dead of winter in order to acclimate their bodies to the cold. His weapon extended, he slowly began to reach for his backup weapon.

 

Before his fingertips could brush the hilt of his short sword, a thin icy hand gripped his bony wrist; cold speared through the leather armor of his wrist guard and the thin layer of padding and cloth beneath. With a hiss of pain, he turned sharply towards the freezing grip, bringing his pistol towards his foe, but before he could lock onto his target, his other wrist was snagged by another frigid hand. The pistol clattered to the floor, falling from his suddenly numb fingers.

 

Henry could now see his opponents – ice maidens, supposedly young women whom were spurned by their beloveds and died in extreme cold with their broken hearts. The pair that held him captive were nearly identical in their looks, the appearance they had when alive given a white wash. One must have been dark-haired while alive due to her dark blue hair, while the other had pale blue-white hair; both had snow white skin that nearly matched their white garb, consisting of nearly identical tattered shifts with blue sashes cinched at their waists, the hems fluttering above their bare feet.

 

“ _Warm…so warm…”_ the pale-haired ice maiden crooned, placing her free hand on his armored chest; he stifled a cry of pain as the cold suddenly pierced through his armor, padding, and clothing to the bare flesh beneath.

 

“ _Handsome too…”_ the dark-haired one murmured, her grip loosening; his fingers, still numb flexed. Cornell had trained them thoroughly, to where they could still – even though clumsily – use their weapons if their hands were numb from cold or restricted blood flow.

 

As the ice maiden went to touch his face, Henry forced his numb hand free of her loose grip and clumsily gripped the hilt of his sword. With a swift, harsh jerk, he pulled the weapon free of it’s scabbard and delivered a quick diagonal slash that reduced the dark-haired ice maiden into a pile of fine, powdery snow.

 

Henry turned to do the same to her pale-haired counterpart; however, the remaining ice maiden slid her hand from his chest to his shoulder, sliding it down his weapon’s arm, numbing his arm to the point he could not hold his sword any longer. The short sword joined his pistol on the library floor as he took a pained, shuddering breath; his breath was visible as he released a muffled groan of pain as she pushed him backwards with her icy cold aura until the backs of his knees struck the edge of the seat of the hard backed chair at his father’s desk. His knees gave out and he fell back onto the chair, which gave a loud creaky groan.

 

He found himself unable to move his legs and a slight crackling sound at his feet, the blond looked down reflexively to see his legs encased in ice up to his shins. Henry shuddered as he felt the ice maiden’s hands press his wrists down towards the chair’s back legs, her upper body pressing against his chest, numbing his torso. The second he felt his hands free, the Knight tried to jerk away, only to find his hands stuck. Craning his head, he saw ice holding his forearms in place against the chair’s back legs.

 

The Knight was trapped, a limb secured to a leg of his father’s chair. The ice maiden straightened and smiled at him serenely. He didn't know what creeped him out more, the fact she was uncaring of the demise of her 'sister' or the lustful glee in her icy eyes.

 

“ _All mine…”_ she crooned. _“Alone at last, my love…”_

 

This was **so** _not good_ …

-

-

-

Reinhardt glanced around the ballroom warily as he entered, quietly closing the door behind him. He could hear the sound of an out of tune harpsichord playing but it didn’t automatically register as a threat as he surveyed the room. It was mostly as he remembered it aside from one of the sofas broken and the dancing pairs of Vampires and ghosts.

 

He froze, mentally backtracking.

 

Music, from unknown source. Dancing Vampires. Dancing ghosts.

 

Oh **fuck**.

 

The Vampire Killer stood completely still, observing the dancing undead; the harpsichord had not stopped it’s playing and from the corner of his eye he noted another addition to the room, in the alcove with the stuffed lion’s head – an ancient harpsichord with the performer a skeleton dressed in a moldy and decaying formal suit from a century past, much like the dancers wore. He recognized the dance they were doing – a waltz, like his mother had taught him when he was a boy.

 

There were three couples, two ghost and one Vampire. Aside from the skeleton playing the harpsichord, there was only one other odd man out – she didn’t look like a ghost or a Vampire, but she was certainly some form of undead, wearing a tattered white chemise with pale blue hair and white skin. Her posture was prim and aside from the state of her garment and bare feet, she almost looked like a proper lady that belonged with the rest. The tattered blue sash cinched at her waist, the faint shimmer to her hair and blue tint to her eyes – and the ice on the only intact sofa where she sat – identified her as an ice maiden.

 

Reinhardt was baffled; what was an ice maiden doing at the villa? A fire specter or fire maiden would make more sense seeing as ice maidens and their male counter parts, ice specters, would prefer a place that was dark, wet, and cold much like where they died. He tensed when the ice maiden looked at him; her eyes widened and his hand slowly inched for the hilt of his whip when she suddenly looked away as though bashful. The Vampire Killer froze in surprise that she didn’t cry out a warning to the other undead still dancing almost mindlessly when she snuck what could only be turned a hopeful look in his direction before gazing at the dancing couples enviously.

 

A bead of sweat trailed down the back of his head, his hand falling away from the hilt of his primary weapon. She…wanted him to ask her to dance?! He recognized the mannerism from some of the girls at the few dances his mother made him attend when he was a young man, before the mess with Dracula the first time. Biting back a sigh, he wondered just what it was about him that attracted undead females; not just Rosa that first time, but several of the female ghosts and Vampires had given him hungry looks – the other sort of hunger, a more carnal in nature then just feeding and maiming – before they pounced.

 

Sometimes he wondered if this ever happened to Henry or Cornell; he was certain it didn’t happen to Carrie, aside form Dracula making advances on her that one time, but that was just a ploy to kill her at the time, he was certain. Maybe it happened to Draco, he was pretty enough to attract attention of that sort… For some reason, that thought bothered him that the pale Archer might be molested by lecherous undead before forcing his mind back on track. He didn’t care if that happened; the Archer wasn’t a member of his family, or even a friend of his…

 

…it wasn’t like he even _liked_ the dhampire…

 

…right?


	6. Chapter Five: The Lady Belmont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The players are coming together, the forces of good gathering as more and more about why Dracula’s resurrection was so early...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, Language, Mild Sexual Situations  
> EDITED: 11.04.2012

**CHAPTER FIVE: THE LADY BELMONT**

_The Province of Walachia, Transylvania, Dracula’s Castle, The Villa_

_May 1856, 6:05 a.m._

-

Draco was snoring.

 

Cornell stared at the dhampire whom was sleeping sitting up, propped up against the back of the sofa with the pillow given to him by Carrie cushioning his head and neck, his cloak being used as covering. The snores were soft and breathy, a result of his current posture; even in repose, he wasn’t fully relaxed.

 

_Smart, pup._

 

The former werewolf knew the dhampire has distorted the truth earlier about why his chest was bound, but Cornell wouldn’t call him on it…yet. His gaze shifted to the bed where his youngest pup slept; she was facing the wall and was still except from the steady rhythm of her breathing. The odds of an incubus lurking about the Villa were slim, but he wasn’t the type to leave one of his pups’ welfare to chance.

 

Shifting in his seat, he turned his gaze back to the door to wait for the older male pups to return…

-

-

-

Reinhardt was, for a lack of better words, confused as hell. The ice maiden had spotted him but raised no cry of attack and he was certain the skeleton at the harpsichord knew he was there…but did nothing aside from continuing to play and the undead couples did nothing but dance. He tensed as the latest song came to an end and watched as the couples stepped back to bow at one another before they straightened, turning their eyes towards him.

 

“Welcome. Are you another of those adventurers come to defeat Dracula?” asked the male vampire; he was tall and dark-haired with a hawkish nose, while the eyes that regarded the Vampire Killer didn’t _seem_ to have homicidal intentions…

 

_Waitaminute._

 

What?

 

“ **Another** adventurer?” Reinhardt echoed, a niggling feeling that had been mostly dormant in the back of his mind after meeting up with Draco awakening once more. “Has someone else come from before me then?”

 

“Oh yes, three others from what we’ve gathered,” one of the male ghosts answered, his voice a whispery echo in the now quiet room.

 

“There was a _misunderstanding_ in the foyer with the first pair, while the third just ignored us since we weren’t acting hostile towards her,” the female vampire said ruefully, adjusting her long skirts and patting stray dark pink curls back into her chignon.

 

“What sort of _misunderstanding_?” Reinhardt asked cautiously.

 

“Well the first pair, a male and female, thought we meant them harm when we went to see who had entered the Villa; we didn’t at all – we’ve made this Villa our home, before the Castle came that is. Now all sorts of horrible creatures roam around…” one female ghost wailed in her distress as she turned and buried her incorporeal head in her partner’s shoulder.

 

“And that nasty gardener tried to take poor Jacques’s head off!” Agreed the female vampire, giving the male vampire’s hand an affectionate squeeze; he smiled down at her lovingly, and for a moment Reinhardt was struck by how the undead couple reminded him of he and Rosa…

 

The Vampire Killer forced his train off thought from his dead wife; now was **not** the time to be overcome by the memories of his beloved, deceased wife.

 

“I see. Well, so long as you don’t intend anyone any harm, then we have no quarrel with you. Hopefully we’ll have Dracula defeated shortly so you can return to your peaceful existence,” the Hunter said; normally he’d attack first, but after Rosa and Cornell, he knew not all ‘ _dark_ ’ creatures were what could be considered evil, just as not all humans were pure and good. If these before him proved to be genuinely peaceful, he’d not bother them.

 

The sudden, unexpected rush of gratitude he received from them was overwhelming, but he managed – barely. After they calmed, he bid them farewell before exiting into the stairwell that led down to the garden maze entrance.

 

His armored boots seemed to echo loudly with every step despite his attempts to be quiet; Reinhardt could vividly remember meeting Renon at the base of these very steps and he couldn’t help but wonder if the demon was lurking about…

-

-

-

The light of the full moon shone down trough a break in the heavy clouds onto the cloudy waters of the lake that surrounded the castle and a crisp breeze stirred the magic-user’s blue hair; garnet eyes narrowed as she stared at the open double doors that lead to the throne room that had been the site of the battle with the vampire they had originally thought was Dracula the first time around.

 

“You shall not have her, Vlad. She’s smarter then Lisa was. She’ll not fall for your spell like Lisa did so long ago,” a hard voice stated, the female soprano echoing in the throne room and out the opened doors to Carrie.

 

Licking her suddenly dry lips, Carrie peered through the open doors; just faintly she could make out the silhouette of a woman, her hair up-swept and garbed in a gown with billowy skirts. The woman’s posture was rigid and her hands were clenched in the voluminous fabric of her skirts.

 

“You are not fit to speak my _wife’s_ name, **succubus** ,” a male voice snarled, low and harsh; Carrie’s heart clenched at the voice, the tone different from the almost seductive purr he’d used before, but it was still voice she knew too well, one that still haunted her nightmares…

 

**Dracula.**

 

“Lisa was a good woman. I do not think she’d love the _monster_ you’ve become, Vlad. I do not think you can make the young sorceress love the monster I see before me; the werewolf and her protectors will not let her be deceived with any lie you come up with to use on her,” the woman, the **succubus** , declared with a ringing conviction in the strength and fortitude of the humans that the Vampire Lord reviled.

 

The bluenette’s stomach fell to her knees when she realized the woman was speaking about _her_. Carrie drew in a sharp breath, her body trembling; why was Dracula after _her_? And why would this woman, a **succubus** , even _care_? Care enough to stand up to the monster that was **probably** her _master_ on the _human_ sorceress’s behalf?

 

“Silence!” Dracula roared and the shadows of the throne room shifted as the Dark Lord stirred; if Carrie could move, she’d charge in right now, demand answers…but she was **trapped** , only able to _listen_ and _watch_ , but not **act**.

 

Skirts rustling, the succubus suddenly sprang to the side to avoid the Dark Lord’s sudden attack; she landed in a deep crouch and Carrie could see the shadows shifting as the woman’s arms spread out, her form dissolving into mist and her voice ringing out: _“You shall not have Carrie Fernandez! The Draco Clan declares it!”_

-

-

-

Heart pounding loudly in her chest and inhaling sharply, Carrie’s eyes snapped open to stare at the moth-eaten canopy above the bed of the Villa’s Master Suite. For a split second she panicked, her eyes darting around to take in her surroundings until she caught sight of the sleeping archer’s profile and the faint shadow of her foster father’s on the floor from one of the room’s few lamps.

 

The frantic pounding of her heart calming, she forced her hands to unclench from the bedspread she lay upon. Her eyes flickered over to the Archer again and saw his silver eyes focused on her, the inhuman color glinting in the dim lamp light. Draco nodded his head slowly, up then down, his eyes never leaving hers in a gesture of silent acknowledgement. She was struck by something the woman – the succubus – had said in her dream…

 

__“The Draco Clan declares it!”__

 

Draco Clan. Come to think about it, he’d never given them his full name and his belt buckle, along with his quiver and scabbard had a stylized D on them, complete with dragon motifs on the pommel of his sword and his bow. Was the Archer from the Draco Clan of her dream…her vision? And if he was…

 

…was he there to **protect** her?

 

Or _kill_ her?

-

-

-

Henry was **beyond** cold; his breathing was laborious and his very heart beat sluggish. Truthfully, he could no longer feel his extremities bound to the legs of the chair. He shuddered reflexively from the chill of the ice maiden’s lips trailing over the faint stubble of his jawline and even through the layers of armor, padding, and cloth he could feel the burn of her arctic touch on what of his torso wasn’t numbed by the cold.

 

“S-stop…” he stuttered out between numb lips, his teeth chattering loudly in the stillness of the study. He was so cold he didn’t even care how pitiful he sounded…

 

“ _Why would I, my love? You’re so_ _ **warm**_ _…please…I’m cold, I_ _ **need**_ _you…_ ” she crooned, her hands trailing over his broad, armored shoulders.

 

Faintly he could heard the study door being forced open, the thin layer of ice sealing it shut cracking and breaking away with the sound of shattering ice mixing with the outraged wail of the ice maiden piercing his numbing mind. A split-second later, the deafening boom of a firearm being discharged echoed in the enclosed space of the study.

 

The ice holding him in place suddenly shattered and gave way, dumping him unceremoniously to the floor, his numbed body unable to support him. His vision swimming, Henry could faintly make out the shadow of a slender form kneeling over him…

-

-

-

He was near hypothermia and unconscious. Not good, not good at all. The newcomer slipped hands to catch the comatose blond man underneath his arm pits despite the frigid state of his armor making the contact painful and with a faint grunt, began to drag him from the horribly cold study back into the dining room before being forced to drop him due to his greater weight and the burning cold of his armor.

 

The wooden shutters covering the fireplace beneath the shattered mirror had to be forced open and scraps of wood were gathered along with scraps of torn canvas and wallpaper. Within moments the dry materials were crackling in the fireplace, more being heaped on until there was a roaring fire pouring its heat onto the shivering blond man. Biting down on her lower lip, the slender adventurer tried to remember what else to do to warm him up.

 

The wet armor and clothes definitely had to go and she hoped he wouldn’t think her too forward when he found himself naked if -- _when_ \-- he woke up. And who was he anyway? Could he be one of her Belmont cousins or was he descended from one of the other clans that had fought against Dracula before?

 

With a sigh the young woman knelt beside him and began to undo the dark leather armor covering him; she _really_ hoped it wouldn’t shrink as it dried, otherwise he might be left with ill-fitting protection or no protection at all against the dark forces dwelling further inside the Castle. The wet, cold ties made it difficult, but she was determined and managed to finally undo the ties and straps. Prying the chest and shoulder armor free, she tried waking him again.

 

“Hello? Wake up!” she pestered him, slapping at his still white cheeks in an attempt to rouse him. “I’m talking to you!”

 

A soft groan escaped the unconscious man as he shifted closer to the heat of the fire. Biting back the urge to curse, she went back to removing his wet armor and clothing.

 

‘ _Well, never let it be said the life of a Belmont was boring,’_ she thought glumly.

-

-

-

There was a pair of silvery-blue armors flanking the door, the one he recalled from the previous time gone. The red-haired Vampire Killer stood at the base of the staircase, a hand on the hilt of his whip; his eyes scanned the small room, which seemed to be barren aside from the suits of armor and there was no sign of Renon’s contract lying about. Letting out a breath, he stepped towards the door.

 

The same second the heel of his boot was on the marble floor, both suits of armor straightened, one spinning its pole-arm, the other hefting its massive broadsword. As he shifted into a ready stance, skillfully snapping his whip to its full length, the pair of armors faced him fully.

 

They were larger then he, slower and mindless; the tight quarters could have been a problem had he been less trained, less skilled. Shattering a small vial of holy water, he sprang backwards onto the stairs as the water slowly evaporated to form a barrier of white flame between the possessed suits of armor and himself. In the back of his mind he could hear Cornell’s voice, lecturing him as though the Hunter was going through one of the former werewolf’s training exercises.

 

__“When you face something big, slow, stupid, and stronger then you, keep as much distance between you and it as possible; go to high ground or someplace it can’t get to and weaken it with holy water or whatever you have on you at the time…”__

 

Reinhardt watched as the armors walked through the holy flames, taking note of the rate they decayed as they slowly marched through with a coldly clinical eye; he backed up, shattering another vial a couple steps before the suits of armor as the holy flames lessened while the holy water from the first vial evaporated completely.

 

Almost absently, his body on autopilot, he side-stepped the swing of a pole-arm while observing the pattern of the armors. Eyeing the pair of possessed armors, he flicked his whip several times in rapid succession, striking at the empty helms as he retreated back up the stairs in a low crouch to avoid the swings of the pole-arm and broadsword; they were almost in position….

 

From the appearance of their _sabatons_ , their elaborately armored boots, they probably wouldn’t be able to navigate the narrow stairs, leaving them only able to poke at him with the longer reach of the pole-arm. **If** that _was_ the case, then he could dump another vial of holy water on them and strike them down with his whip while simultaneously avoiding the pole-arm. Taking a deep, calming breath, the Vampire Killer readied himself…

-

-

-

The pups were taking too long for just a sweep, Cornell decided as he straightened up. From the corner of his eye, he saw Draco’s head lift and turn in his direction; their gazes locked and the Archer tilted his head towards the occupied bed in a silent inquiry. Cornell gave a negative shake of his head and stood; he raised a hand to halt the dhampire as he began to rise from the love-seat. Draco froze immediately, in an awkward half-standing and half-seated position.

 

“Stay. I’ll hand this. Watch over Carrie while she rests.”

 

The archer dropped his weight back onto the love-seat, a plume of dust rising as the frame groaned slightly. “Be careful.”

 

“I always am,” Cornell said as he approached the door to the Master Suite and he pretended he didn’t hear the unladylike snort of derision that came from the bed as he headed out the door…

-

-

-

As the door closed behind Cornell, Draco turned his eyes towards the canopied bed to meet the sorceress’s garnet gaze; she stared back at him, her eyes narrowing contemplatively as she scrutinized him.

 

“Draco. Is that family name or something else?” She finally asked him.

 

“It’s my Clan’s name,” the dhampire murmured. “You should be resting.”

 

“I keep having the most _peculiar_ dream,” Carrie stated as she sat up fully on the bed, her eyes never leaving his. “Of a confrontation between Dracula and a succubus…”

 

“A succubus who speaks on behalf of the Draco Clan?” he inquired almost lazily.

 

“Yes…”

 

“So she showed you the threat against you…” Draco mused, seeming to speak more to himself then to her. “…how interesting, so many things falling together and so many players starting to fall in place…”

 

“The threat against me?” There was a sudden sharpness in the sorceress’s voice that drew his attention fully back to her.

 

“Dracula seems to require your powers,” he elaborated. “ **Perhaps** it is his wish to _augment_ his own gifts with your own, to keep himself from being forced into hibernation, to become almost unstoppable, in a manner similar when he _stole_ your foster father’s gift of transforming into a werewolf so that he could awaken _stronger_ a few years later through reincarnating himself…”

 

“So why is a succubus so concerned?” she asked him, frowning slightly.

 

“Lady Draco’s reasons are her own and not for a _mere_ soldier in her Clan’s ranks to speculate upon…not if they wish to keep their heads firmly attached to their shoulders, that is.”

 

“What will you do if Dracula manages to take me, to steal my powers?” Carrie asked, her voice rising slightly with her growing unease.

 

“I will fight to save you with everything I have and if it, combined with the rest of your family’s strengths, are not enough…” he trailed off, a look of discomfort visible on the Archer’s pale face.

 

“If it’s not enough…?” she prompted him to continue hoarsely.

 

“Then I am truly sorry,” he replied, honest sorrow in his voice along with a resigned resolve, “but I may be forced to **kill** you.”

-

-

-

The first of the armors collapsed upon itself, a heap of moldering, rapidly decomposing scrap metal at the base of the stairs; the armor’s twin was looking worse for wear, the almost acidic effect of the Holy Water having caused massive amounts of pitting and decay in the once gleaming suit of armor. Reinhardt reared back, his whip cracking about him; with a skilled flick of his wrist, he struck at the weak spot in the chest plate created by his bombardment of Holy Water.

 

The armor collapsed on itself with a faint groaning sound, much to the Vampire Killer’s relief; he’d always held a disdain for the possessed armors, feeling them to be a mockery to the noble Knights they resembled. Carefully coiling his whip, he cautiously made his way back down the stairs; one never knew what was lurking around the corner inside the Dark Castle.

 

Slowly he approached the double doors that headed out to the Garden Maze, straining his ears for any hint of the familiar, terrifying sounds of the Frakengardener creature and his pair of stone pets coming through the doors. As he reached for the door knob of the right hand door, the left-hand door suddenly opened to reveal a regally garbed man wearing the well-tended and finely crafted clothing of a century past, his white hair cascading over his shoulders and down his back, stark against the black of his cape and clothing; his skin was pale and the tips of his ears pointed.

 

The sunlight peering through the cloud break washed over him without doing the non-human harm and giving his white hair and skin an almost unearthly glow. Immediately Reinhardt was struck by the man’s resemblance to the descriptions of the legendary Alucard…

 

…and how much he looked like _Draco_ …


End file.
